


A Psychedelic Christmas

by AnathemaAuthoress



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: (For the Rick and Morty 2018 gift exchange), Bottom Rick Sanchez (Rick and Morty), Christmas, Drug Use, Established Relationship, Fictional drugs, Fluff, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Psychotropic Drugs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-26 23:34:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17151155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnathemaAuthoress/pseuds/AnathemaAuthoress
Summary: Rick has been clean too long and he never lets Morty top. Morty will fix both problems with one Christmas gift.Made for Left_Handed_Rick for the gift exchange!





	A Psychedelic Christmas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Left_Handed_Rick](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Left_Handed_Rick/gifts).



> Merry Christmas, LHR! I've never written a full-blown drug trip before and this one is based on a fictional drug, but I still hope you like it. XD I tried to fit all your requests in a little bit, and while I didn't have time to develop this like I wanted, I hope you will enjoy it in its one-shot final form. <3

Sometimes liquor just wasn’t enough to snuff out the edge of hurt that ever radiated on the precipice of Rick’s mind. Once upon a time he’d become acquainted with the perfect formula for numbing those pieces, muting them, along with every other strong emotion.

That was probably why Morty was so fucking diligent about preventing it. It seared like a bastard, but Rick knew it would, had known when he’d agreed to lessen his intake to better open himself up to the shit he was supposed to feel.

He’d been making a lot of dumb-ass decisions like that lately. Ever since he and Morty had entered what Rick liked to think of as “stage two”, Rick had been trying to be more accommodating. After all, he might have been a lousy grandfather, but he didn’t have to be a lousy boyfriend too.

“Ugh, scratch that, f-fuck buddy,” Rick muttered out loud. He even waved about his hand as if willing the floating notion to disperse. They weren’t teenage lovers caught up in some 1997 daytime shlock. They were down and dirty, incestous, masters of raunch and kink, and though Rick had no shorthand for that just yet, _boyfriend_ certainly wasn’t a suitable substitute.

“Wh-huh?” Morty blinked like a fish, one lid after the other, as he looked up from whatever handheld thing he was playing.

“Nothing, screw it. Are you still, you know, still messing around with that thing?” Rick spared the boy a fleeting glance, although his hand never left the steering wheel and his posture never shifted.

Morty toyed with the device, tilted it from side to side as if inspecting it for the first time rather than just mindlessly offering it his soul through his retinas. “I mean, yeah. It’s actually pretty cool, Rick. Usually when dad gets me stuff like this it’s, um, kinda shitty. But this, i-it’s decent.”

Rick could tell Morty was withholding praise for the little machine out of fear Rick would rile, claim superiority, and attempt to build a better model. What an interesting adventure that would provide them! Maybe they’d even visit a toy dimension for parts, or a faraway planet with acid rivers–the only thing that can halt a rampaging giant robot. Or it could lead to a multitude of mischievous misadventures that could both bond and scar them, from which they might never recover.

Of course, they’d never know because Rick wasn’t giving into that today. Oh, he had half a mind to, just to piss Morty off, but his impulses ran a bit differently when he was sober and in the end he decided it wasn’t worth the effort just to prove he could. “W-why–what would possess your broke, bastard father to buy something like that? I mean, sure it’s cheap for a handheld, some ambiguous, unnamed brand to prevent free sponsorship. But, but still! Little rich for his blood, am I right?” Rick snorted, amused by his own undermining of Jerry. Naturally he was always happy to take the wind out of the man’s sails, Rick considered it his own olympic sport.

 _Couple more years of persuasion and the committee will recognize it,_ Rick thought eagerly.

Morty’s eyes suddenly narrowed and he turned to leer more fully at his grandfather. Rick looked straight ahead and pretended he couldn’t see the expression, though his peripherals got a clear view.

_Shit, shit I forgot something!_

“Well, you know,” Morty spoke calmly, though his expression remained suspicious. “Christmas is next week. I always get a nice gift early.”

“Oh, yeah. Slipped my mind. You know, the early gift thing, not Christmas. Of course I remember every holiday designed to pander to the consumerism of an entire line of generations. A day specifically constructed to drain the last few pennies from every home in America just before the government taxes the hell out of them. It’s not a coincidence, Morty!”

“What about the birth of Jesus?” Morty asked with one brow lifted in amusement.

Rick reared back and scoffed. “Just a corporate caricature designed to move product, just like the Easter Bunny, Count Chocula, and Martha Stewart.”

Snorting, Morty leaned back in his seat and returned his attention to his game, but he looked almost smug. “Whatever you say, Rick. Just don’t forget my present. I expect something nice.”

Morty’s matter-of-fact tone sent a shiver through Rick’s entire body. There was something inherently sexual about a bossy grandson, but that feeling only made Rick temperamental. He had a rule about being with Morty. If they were going to fuck around, everything else aside, Rick was on top. Period. Full fucking stop.

It was a rule Morty had protested on various occasions, but one Rick was immovable about. It wasn’t that Rick didn’t like it up the ass, quite the contrary, and it wasn’t a secret either. Basically the whole family was privy to this information through some source or another, like it or not. In fact, the boundary had nothing to do with pleasure at all.

Well, perhaps it did, in some small way. The fact was, Rick got one of two ways when he was dominated by living beings. The first, and most likely scenario was typically lockdown. If he wasn’t plastered, or loose enough to lower his guard, when faced with bottoming he tended to shut down. Rigid sex is no fun, and so Rick cut it off before it got that far.

The second possibility was the worst and usually the reason for the first outcome. Rick would become an absolute slut. A desperate, vulnerable slut at that, and frankly Morty had seen more than his fair share of emotionally approachable Ricks and he didn’t need this. He wouldn’t have it at least.

So, in short, anytime Rick got that tingly feeling deep down his gut that made him want to bend over the console and purr for his grandson’s cock, he did the opposite. In less than five minutes, he had pulled over the ship, stripped Morty of his clothes and defenses, and was plowing into the younger man, growling expletives like, “How’s this for a–for a Christmas gift, Morty? You like this?”

Morty did like it, he always did, and thank goodness, because it was the distraction Rick needed. Afterwards, he told Morty the boy could shove any notion of Christmas presents up his swollen ass. Rick wasn’t screwing around with holiday nonsense more than Beth required and as such he laid down the law then and there. No gifts. From either of them. At all.

Morty dejectedly agreed and Rick proudly drove them onward, content that he wouldn’t have to remember Christmas this year. He could wipe all thought of it from his mind.

 

Unfortunately for Rick, that bliss lasted only as long as the rest of the week.

 Naturally, Christmas came around the same as every year and Beth didn’t allow him to forget. Jerry’s parents had been adequate distractions for the last few years, but the family was no longer permitting him to slip under the radar.

“No adventures,” Beth had ordered, and even though Rick could have left anyway, it was just easier to avoid the guilt and face the monotony.

Dinner was a trite affair, but Jerry’s dad got a real kick out of Rick’s sense of humor–even if he didn’t really understand it. Gift cards were exchanged, easy peasy. Rick wanted no part in the present aspect, but the lady Smiths all looked so chagrin that the old man pulled some old scraps from the lab and passed them off as jewelry to positive results. Jerry was envious and Rick wasn’t really sure if it was funny or sad, but in the spirit of not giving a shit, he gave the idiot a fire hazard–er, necklace–of his own.

Then just like that, Rick was freed from obligation. He scurried off to his closet-space of a bedroom, cracked open a pitiful bottle of beer–one of the few mercies Morty allowed–from his buried mini fridge, and flopped haphazardly on his fold-out.

He glanced lazily around and once again considered actually sorting the boxes of supplies, foreign objects, and old clothes. And once again he discarded the concept as quickly as it had come.

He was in a shitty mood. The family had gotten cold Rick, distant, flippant, why-fucking-bother Rick. Yet inside he was furious, agitated, fucking irate Rick. He just knew it was the damn withdrawals again. He needed kalaxian crystals, strimo weed, hell even plain old ecstasy would have given him a buzz. He swirled his beer idly. “Or something better than this shit,” he grumbled.

He was having a perfectly reasonable time fuming at his beer when the demon of his ire arrived at the door.

“H-hey, Rick! What you did down there for Summer and mom and grandma? That, that was nice.”

“The hell do you want, Morty?” Rick didn’t bother looking up. He liked the way Morty’s half-reflection waived in the brown glass of his beer bottle. It was almost like a trip, watching the shades of yellows and creams bleed and smeer in blobs like ink.

Morty didn’t sound put off by Rick’s attitude at all. “I have something for you.”

Rick let his eyes tilt around the shape of the bottle so he could clearly see Morty standing in the door frame, dumb smile plastered on his face, one hand behind his back.

The older man sighed and sat up to make room on the bed.

“H-here!” Morty plopped down beside Rick and pushed a perfectly wrapped green and red box into his grandfather’s lap.

Rick had to shuffle his beer to one of the storage boxes nearby to get a good grip on the hastily dispersed gift. “Ahh! You shouldn’t have! What is it?” Rick feigned excitement and gave the box a purposefully rough shake. In truth, it was a little thrilling to a get a gift, but Rick knew he’d been very clear about not wanting to comply with holiday traditions. When Morty wasn’t visibly wounded by the hostile display, Rick dropped his octave and glared deadpan instead. “I, uh, thought we weren’t doing this. In fact, kinda made a point not to.”

“Oh, I know,” Morty said smoothly. He was doing that smug shit again and Rick had to swallow thickly and clench the box in his grip to keep from doing something stupid. “Open it.”

“Sh-shit, Morty! F-feeling bossy, Morty? Do I, do I got to open it now? How should I do it, Morty? Want to hold my hand in case I fuck up, Morty?” Rick all but spat and spun the box around like he wasn’t sure what to do with it.

“I can, you know, if you’re gonna be awkward about it.” Again Morty’s smile broadened, sass expanded at least two parsecs.

Rick felt his face turning red and opted to just tear the paper off the thing in his lap, lest he snap or wind up at Morty’s verbal mercy again. Beneath the sparkly paper was a simple brown box. Thankfully, Morty hadn’t taped it down so it was easy enough to open. Inside, nestled on a bed of shining silver confetti, was a cliche little plant with rich green leaves and red bobbles. It was so bright it looked plastic, but Rick could smell the authenticity.

The old man rolled his eyes, but grinned with certainty he had the upper hand now. “Mistletoe? J-jesus Morty that’s pretty fucking pitiful, even for you. And joke–joke’s on you! This isn’t mistletoe, it’s fucking holly. Jesus, Morty!”

Morty crawled up on his knees on the mattress so he was pulled up a bit taller than Rick’s torso. Then he flirtatiously leaned over and plucked the plant from the box with two fingers. “Actually, it’s neither. It’s special, Rick. I hunted it down just for you.” Morty lifted the plant up carefully, as if it was made of fragile glass, and held it overhead like mistletoe, despite his words.

Rick watched, frozen in surprise, as his grandson leaned down and placed a warm kiss against his lips. It was brief and chaste, and Morty pulled back quickly and gave the plant a shake. The red berries seemed to quiver and a light green powder sprouted from the pores of the leaves. The dust drifted down and decorated Rick’s hair and cheeks.

“What is–?” Rick’s thoughts suddenly spasmed. He didn’t see his own pupils blow out wide. What he did witness was the edges of his vision blurring, then Morty’s smiling face, slowly bloating, spinning into a colorful spiral while his yellow shirt started to flash like the lights of a discotech.

Morty’s voice overlaid the melting scheme. “I’m going to make you feel good, Rick. So fucking good.”

Rick blinked several times, as if that would rid the world of the bubbling shapes and colors swelling and popping before him. As the oil painting blurs erupted, the world became clear again beneath the spill. Morty’s face grinned at him through a porthole in running rainbow streaks.

 _Shit,_ Rick thought, _I’m high._ While he still had a bit of wit, Rick realized Morty was suddenly breathing against his ear. The boy’s words were hot and exhilarating.

“I’m going to fuck you,” Morty promised.

“Shit,” Rick breathed. He was hot all over now. Felt the warmth from the words race through him like they were objects, crawling along his skin, burning up his nerves. Sinking lower to flare his cock to full salute. It was only then that he realized his veins were prickling, his own breath was coming out in ragid puffs. He was ragingly horny and it had set on like a fever in the winter.

Then Morty was pushing on his shoulders. Rick felt like he weighed a thousand pounds and fell back onto the welcoming softness of his matress. The sheets were plush like rabbit fur and cradled him even as they began to stick to the sweat blossoming from his pores.

The ceiling behind Morty’s head wibbled back and forth at the edges of Rick’s sight, made the area around the younger man waiver like a halo of flames. Rick nearly recoiled as Morty lashed down like a snake to capture him in another kiss. This one was long and hard and felt like it lasted a long time, long enough for them to melt together, to string out like bubblegum before coming back together just before separating.

Rick wasn’t aware of losing his clothing or of Morty becoming bare above him, for after a long moment he became overwhelmed by the heat and the sculpting of the realm around him into something new and fragmented, like a trip through a portal to a world he didn’t know.

There was no anger or self-consideration for a stretch of immeasurable time. Instead, there was just floating and amusement, and laughter that sounded foreign, like it was exploding from bubbles. And the heat. That strong, wanting heat that inched up his thighs and begged him to spread them.

Then that crawling need was fingers, squeezing soft skin and parting him, first legs then the tender mounds of his ass. Morty’s kneading fingers seemed disconnected from the rest of him, some unseen force of pleasure.

Rolling fire sunk inside him, slick and firm. For a moment, Rick came crashing down. The whole world was real and there to grip and see and feel and panic started to rise in his chest only to fizzle out on the gentle breeze of pleasure that followed.

“Oh! Oh, god!” Rick tilted his head back and sealed his eyes closed as his whole body gave in to the intense assault of new sensation. Everything was heightened, like he could feel beyond his own skin. He could feel like he was the mattress beneath him, the fingers, then tongue inside him. His heart was thrumming.

For a moment the darkness of his lids evened him out, but then the edges turned pink and started to drip here and there, up and down, just like the chemicals reacting in a lava lamp. It dribbled faster and danced with gelatin pink drops as his body started to bounce. He could feel his cock slapping his stomach, berating him and pulsing him with ecstasy all at once.

His eyes flew open again, again to clear and untouched waters that displayed for him in high-definition the beauty of Morty’s parting lips, the raw sensuality of his knitted brows and clenching teeth, and the welcome and wondrous surge of hips as his thick cock sank into Rick’s needy body. _At last,_ Rick nearly screamed, but choked on it instead.

He couldn’t think enough to second guess himself, and how blissful, _oh how blissful._ He wrapped his arms around Morty’s neck and back on instinct, and lifted his legs up to lock around his grandson’s hips.

Morty was panting, trying to go slow, but the strength of Rick’s legs dragged him inward and he sank to the hilt, nearly cried out from the sheer pleasure. At some point, he’d closed and locked the door, but outbursts would be heard and Rick would be enough to silence without Morty’s own desires adding to the chorus.

So he held his tongue and let himself drown in the lush feeling of Rick’s inner walls, quivering, clenching, stroking him before they’d even moved. He was so damn glad he’d gone through with this and all doubt and fear he’d had about persuading Rick beneath him through intoxication drowned beneath the payoff, beneath the hot hold.

Clarity didn’t last, and as Morty pulled out slow, like the torturous drag of knife over skin looking to draw blood, vines began to shimmy and grow beneath pale skin. The green veins twisted and branched, extended up the straining tendons of Morty’s shoulders and neck. It crept into his cheeks and tore into yet more lines, tiny vines that twisted into mazes. A fascinating art show, growing across a sensual canvas.

Rick was acutely aware he had lines in his own features. Little tendrils, sliding into the dips and grooves on his skin, embedded from age, and perfect to trace. He wondered if he were to lean up and kiss, if their vines would meet and tangle or if the beautiful affliction would wither.

He tightened his grip and braved the adventure, pulled Morty in deeper to root, and kissed the boy on lips soft and slightly dry from erratic breathing.

Rick became languid in it. His eyes fluttered closed and, for an instant, he forgot he was high as their tongues skated one over the other in practiced patterns, and he got lost in it, the first magnitude of thought he’d had since the green snow had fallen.

How long had they been like this? So able to predict the moves of the other? Kissing was something everyone did the same, but it always felt a little different. When Rick had first kissed Morty, it had been awkward. First kisses always are, a little, even if they feel good. Even if they feel incredible. Building up a unison is something that takes time–or a hive mind, whatever works. In any case, Rick had only known that synchronicity three times. Unity, of course. His wife, whom he had known in scopes so broad it was impossible to document. And now, Morty.

When his eyes came to face the world once more, the vines had not dwindled. They were still there, more vibrant and effervescent than before. Their lips parted and Rick could swear a rose blossomed from between Morty’s lips and the younger man laughed at the absurdity of it–or perhaps he was laughing at Rick’s wide eyes, the old man wasn’t sure.

In any case, the rose expanded, huge petals spread like the wings of a bird and then flew right off the stem and into the air. Each erupted into a different color and they spun round and round like gears and overlapped to block out all sight.

They came together like the sliding gems of a kaleidoscope. Shining color over color, warping and changing with hypnotic rhythm. Rick had experienced different kinds of highs throughout his life, but this one was like art, unraveling. Of course, later he might recall it as little more than a cluster of illusions and mental spasms, so it was best to indulge it now.

The pattern of the throbbing gems stayed in tandem with the thrusting of Morty’s hips. The young man’s body surged, in and out to the beat of his own heart. Their bodies were slick and warm, pressed chest to chest, the motions were slippery and fluid. Morty had to cover Rick’s mouth to ease the litany of moans and whines that had began to emerge and Morty cursed himself for doing this now, with others around. He wanted to hear it. Yet seeing Rick twisted up in pleasure, mouth parted and breathy, eyes blown wide in some faraway state, was enough to keep regret at bay. He just wanted to fill up the tight body shivering below him. Wanted to make Rick feel even a fraction of the joy he gave Morty when their bodies met in other ways. He locked them back together, grinded rather than bucked, and kissed Rick’s lips a swollen, elegant pink.

In Morty’s world it was much more grounded. Rick was lax against the pillow save for the arms still clinging to his grandson’s shoulders. His legs had gone slack though, thighs spread open to allow a deeper probing. Morty went as slow as he could manage, a passionate rolling of hips that had mastered a pattern. He dragged his mass out to the tip, let his bulbous crown throb and tense at Rick’s puckered entrance. Then he pushed back in on each rebound, let his ridges stroke the satin tunnel of Rick’s flexing inner walls. The path was slippery with spit and seed and Morty all but whimpered at the knowledge he was coating Rick’s insides, decorating his needy body with primal markings, scented, gooey claim.

Rick’s body was burning like he was in heat. His mind was on a trip Morty could not begin to fathom, but his body was there and real and horny like it had never been. It seemed Morty’s quest for the perfect aphrodisiac had not been in vain. In fact, he was certain he was feeling a contact high. An almost acidic need to fuck until their bodies turned either raw or to ash. At times he lost control, pivoted his hips with abandoned, but he always came back to the sensuous pace, that simple slide of his cock through Rick’s spread center. There was no rush, Christmas was a long and festive day. Meant for celebrating. Morty was happy to partake.

For Rick, moments turned to hours. He and Morty had stamina other mortals could not hope to comprehend, so he would never know the time that had passed, but it felt like ages. Time stretched out into waves of emotion and light. His body contorted, took the intrusion with pleasure and gratitude. He twisted himself up in Morty both figuratively and in a sense only his eyes could warp and bend.

His body moved on its own, riding out each thrust like the gallop of a horse or the decline of a rollercoaster. He bounced, feeling like he was made of rubber, certain he was as malleable as taffy. All the while, the centers at the back of his brain released rush after rush of endorphins.

It all rose up. Rick got tense and winded, like he was climbing a mountain and the air was growing thin. His nails dug lines down Morty’s back and his visions changed again. First to water. Everything was ocean over sand, refractions of light as his thighs drew tight. Shifting shells beneath a current and his muscles drew together, cock flexed with warning edging.

Then the ripples blew away, up Morty’s skin like something crawling up just below, then over like a haze. The tides turned to smoke and everything seemed to billow. The heat reached boiling and Rick arched back and released a scream so loud there was no way it hadn’t reached every corner of the house.

Morty leaned over, still fanning out like smoke, rising to the ceiling even as he dipped low and moaned his release against the parted valley of Rick’s drooling lips. “I’m going to fill you up!” Morty was snarling like an animal, like a primal beast made of dark atmosphere. Like the universe making demands, eyes glittering like stars.

“F-fill me, Morty! All the way!” Rick’s eyes prickled with tears that poured down his cheeks and made Morty more ravenous.

The young man’s cock twitched hard, spat like a viper determined to kill. He pumped Rick harder, harder, fast enough he feared they both might pop. Thick, pearly bubbles squelched between prick and ass, flooded out to stain sweat-soaked sheets and remind them it had happened and had happened hot and uncontrolled.

“R-Rick! I love you,” Morty screamed, then moaned out low and soft into the shell of Rick’s ear. He could feel the warmth radiating off the skin and he caressed it with his tongue to cool the burn before saying it again and again. “I love you, Rick. I fucking love you.”

“I l-love you, Morty,” Rick whimpered. Sentimentalism poured out of him like the ropes of burning passion painting his own stomach in sin. “I love you!”

Rutting, whining, moaning mess. Erratic completion shivering under the guise of a fire’s peak. Then it was mortal again, sticky and sickly warm. Morty pulled them apart with a wet, sloppy pop that even Rick’s haze could not romanticize. Then the boy fell beside his grandfather and heaved an elated sigh. The family would make their own excuses, Morty was unconcerned and contentment rippled through him like the waves still permeating Rick’s vision.

“Merry Christmas,” Morty managed in a raw and bemused voice before allowing himself to slip into that half-asleep haze that so often accompanied release. Rick followed after for a short while.

When it was long over and the effects of both the sexual and literal high had started to fade, Rick rolled onto his side to nestle into Morty’s chest. Normally, he’d tuck away and reflect on his shame for a while, but it was the holidays, so screw it. “What the hell was that?” Rick’s lips were dry and for all his desire to quip or flounder, he could only manage basic statements.

Morty chuckled, a shockingly deep sound that vibrated through his chest and into Rick’s still-warm face. “I’m not telling. It’s safe and you can use it if I’m around–once in a while! I went on my own adventure-thing for it, just for you. So it’s my secret.”

Rick just laughed in reply. “Be that way, asshole. B-but I want seconds before Valentine’s or whatever bullshit holiday you have planned next.”

“Mmm, hell yeah. You know though, New Years is only a few days away.”

Rick didn’t reply for fear his gratitude would make itself too well known, but privately he knew he’d found his new favorite celebration. Morty was a good top, and if Rick was high it was easy to give in. So he thought, with no restraint of glee, _Boy, do I have some resolutions for next year!_


End file.
